By 6 am I had my first lot of washing done and pegged out on the line, thankful that the day had started bright and sunny. The lounge had been dusted and the windows cleaned. I was like this: once I set my mind to tasks I was like a whirlwind, never settling until each one had been done. It didn’t seem to take long before I heard Sam’s alarm sound in the room above me.
I set out all the dishes and filled each one with cereal ready for the stampede of boys that would soon come rushing down the stairs. Sam woke them up on his way down and we sat and had breakfast together before he left for work. This wasn’t a good morning. I was tired and frustrated after the events that had unfolded in my dream, and when I drew the curtains back, a large black cloud was lingering overhead, ready to explode and release a heavy shower onto my recently pegged-out washing.
One hour later, as we all approached the school gates, the clouds erupted and we seemed to have the worse downpour of the season. When I arrived home just fifteen minutes later, after I had tried to dodge the rain by running, I lifted Timothy’s pram into the hall.
There was a large pool of water sitting on his rain canopy and water had started seeping in from the back, just below the hood. We were soaked and cold. The last thing I wanted to do was pick him up and hold him against my cold, wet clothes. Timothy looked happy snuggled in his pram and wasn’t crying, so I quickly dried off and changed my clothes before lifting him out. He was still so warm and absolutely bone dry. I was so thankful he hadn’t got wet. I was thankful for this rainy distraction because it meant I had to focus on other things.
I didn’t have time to let the memories in; they were still crammed into the box. I knew, however, that with every moment that passed that ‘they’ weren’t happy being ignored. I looked at the clock: 9.45 am. I could finally ring Bess and ask her to call. I picked up the phone and dialled, but it was engaged. I tried again a minute or so later. It rang and rang and rang and I was just about to replace the receiver when an unfamiliar voice spoke to me, saying: ‘Hello Bess Meyer’s office can I help you?’
‘Hi, I’m Sarah Preston. Is there any chance of speaking to Bess please?’
As I waited for the reply, I suddenly saw an image of Bill walking in front of me, smiling his pathetic little smile.
‘I’m sorry Sarah,’ said the woman. ‘She has just gone into a meeting, but if I’m quick I may be able to pass her a note before they begin. What’s the message?’
‘Could you just ask her if she can call me back as soon as possible, as I need to speak to her? It’s urgent, thanks.’
‘Okay I will do. Bye.’
I hadn’t heard the noise of the receiver being put down on the other end of the line until the sound in my ear changed to the dialling tone a few minutes later. I had been distracted by Bill’s image. An image that seemed to be walking round familiarising itself with my home. The space that belonged to Sam and me. A space we shared and created our happy memories in. Memories of our life together. I closed my eyes tight, begging for reality to reappear. I opened my eyes and Bill was gone. Thank you Lord, I prayed mentally.
Seeing Bill’s image so clearly had left me feeling so uncomfortable, but I tried not to let it distract me too much. I gave Timothy a warm bottle and then put him in his cot for a nap. An hour or so later the phone rang and Bess’s familiar cheery voice was on the other end of the line.
‘Hi Sarah, I got your message. Is everything okay?’
‘No, not really. I’m having a few problems with some of my past and it’s disturbing me a lot more than before. Do you think you could come round if that’s possible, as I don’t think I would be able to go through it all on the phone?’
There was a short pause on the other end of the line. I could hear pages being flicked back and forth.
‘Right Sarah, I’ve just looked at my diary and I think I can rearrange my next meeting for later in the week, so I’ll see you in an hour. Will that be okay?’
‘Oh thank you, thank you,’ I replied. As I replaced the receiver, my hands were trembling and I felt lightheaded.
I was so relieved that Bess was coming. Tears started to escape and fall slowly down my cheeks. I sat in the same place curled up, holding onto myself, my knees folded under my chin for the next ten minutes until the flood receded and the tears were no more.
Chapter Twelve
I DON’T KNOW what I would have done if Bess had said she couldn’t fit me in until later in the week. At least I didn’t have to worry about that now. She was coming and would be here in less than half an hour.
I went upstairs to wash my tear-stained face and then checked on Timothy, who was still sleeping. I was glad of that, but wondered if I would be able to tell Bess everything before he woke from his nap. It seemed to take forever before her familiar knock on the door sounded through the house. I was glad because once she was in the house and sitting in her usual spot, we didn’t waste five minutes exchanging pleasantries.
I was so anxious to get on and discuss the recent events. I expect I must have seemed a little ill at ease to Bess, because the first words she spoke to me were words of comfort and reassurance, telling me to try and take it easy and calm down. I wondered how I was supposed to calm down with Bill not only in my dreams but haunting me in the daytime, too. His memory ghost was now with me most days, making Bill more real than ever before.
So, I didn’t say anything, just took a deep breath and began to tell Bess why I had been so anxious to see her. I tried to explain things to her the best way I could, but I knew the words were muddled before I even began to make any recognisable, audible sounds. Instead what came out were loud uncontrollable sobs. Sobs of desperation and despair.
Bess was instantly at my side, holding me and giving me a motherly hug. After what seemed like forever, I looked up at her and she gave me a look of complete understanding. How could she understand? Especially when I hadn’t even told her about feeling Bill’s presence next to me in my home. She smiled at me. Her smile was one of those smiles that said, ‘It’s okay Sarah. I understand and I’m here to listen’.
I started telling Bess how I felt deep inside. ‘Bill seems to have invaded my space, he’s here in my house with me, but I don’t understand how this is possible, especially when he is just my dream monster.
‘How did he become “so real” a presence, Bess?’
‘How did I let him back in?’
Bess looked a little shocked at first, but once I explained to her that by ‘back in’ I meant in my dreams, she looked a little less stunned. I tried hard to describe to Bess how I was frightened of even closing my eyes, even for the smallest nanosecond. Afraid of just the slightest, imagined, glimpse of Bill. I hated what this man was doing to me again. He hadn’t even touched me, and yet I felt trapped and cornered, unable to even think about planning any kind of life for the future. I felt the same as a fledgling gazelle, out without her mother for the first time to explore the world, who is then cornered by a lion.
I wanted so desperately to be a million miles away from where I was. I wanted so much just to pack up the few things I held dear and go off to the furthest, remotest corner of the world and get away from my life. I knew realistically that the bravest thing to do, however, was to face my demons and face them head on.
In the past I had let Bill make me so afraid that I tried to end my life. I didn’t succeed and I know there must have been a reason for this. I had once found enough bravery to say ‘stop’. I knew that I had to repeat that word; the problem was that it felt too tiny to matter. I just needed to gain some extra strength to put it into big loud capital letters again. Bess sat listening. I explained to her how I felt so insecure and that the insecurities I felt were down to the vivid dreams I was having. And, of course, seeing Bill in town.
Next, I told her I knew that he couldn’t possibly know where I lived, but that didn’t stop me feeling afraid of every strange, unknown car that pulled up and parked outside my door. I wanted to feel free again. I had to get on with my life, not just for my s
ake, but also for the sake of my family. Bess tried to make me understand before she left that day how I would eventually feel secure again, but that I had to give it time. After Bess had said this, I found myself wishing someone would give me an atom bomb to wipe out and replace the tainted time I had lost.
She left not long after, with nothing resolved and no real reassuring words, but I felt a little better once again.
Chapter Thirteen
BESS TOOK A back seat in my life for the next few weeks. I felt I didn’t need to see her, even though life was far more hectic during the Christmas holidays and the boys were due to break up from school later that week. Somewhere inside I felt calmness and I had Bess to thank for that. I knew she had worked a small miracle. When I look back at that period of time, I can’t be quite sure at what point my mind had started to cope with my past, but I knew that I was coping. I had hardly done any Christmas shopping because I had been so preoccupied with my thoughts, so over the next four days I went into town after the boys had been taken to school and bought the things I needed to make Christmas for my family perfect. I never spent lots of money – for one thing we didn’t have much, and what’s more, I didn’t want my sons to grow up spoilt.
I bought books and Lego – they all loved Lego. I also bought Stickle Bricks and toy cars for William, too. On Friday we went out to buy a tree. Our Christmas tree had to be perfect. Real Christmas trees were a huge part of the nice part of my childhood. As I write this, I remember with fondness my Nana and Granddad’s visit each Christmas. They would drive to see us with a beautiful tree they’d bought from somewhere close to their Lakeland home. This was a time when I remember being nothing more than a child, a good clean child, with no tainted memories or dirty abused secrets hidden in my head. This is why I loved the memories that we were now creating. These were my very own family Christmases. Each year, when I smelt the pine needles, I knew Christmas was going to be so special. This year was no exception. It was just so wonderful. I felt relaxed, and we even managed to get some local walks in, too.
Bess’s visits resumed again over the next few weeks and I continued talking through those niggling anxieties that haunted me from the past. I used the word ‘anxieties’ now because my dreams weren’t quite the problem they once were. A long time ago, I had almost ended my life by swallowing pills in a desperate attempt to leave the existence I had behind. I contemplated destroying the only bit of goodness I knew I would have needed to recover from my ordeal as a child all those years ago.
When I first met Bess, I hadn’t realised that talking could help so much. I had been utterly convinced that the only way to avoid my nightmares was to leave them buried forever. The avoidance tactic had worked for a time but it was never really the best solution. Before Bess’s visits began, I felt as if I was being slowly eaten from the inside. Each dreadful, vile, despairing secret, was giving off poisonous venom that was attacking the tiny bit of my life that had remained untainted. As each day passed, a little more of the pure ‘me’ was gone.
Bess’s sessions brought me to a place in my life where I felt completely at sea. I had so much anxiety still inside that I felt unable to breath at times. I felt desperate for oxygen, even though the whole sky around me was full of it. After each Monday I found myself thinking about my abuse in different ways. Even though I was now able to see it from an adult perspective, inside I was still a damaged little girl: a little girl who had not been loved in the right way for most of her childhood.
Being a victim of abuse is unimaginable at any age, but as a child it is beyond belief. If I could have changed the path of life I had been given to walk along as a child, I would have gladly avoided the direction that led to the years eleven to fifteen, and taken a detour. Walking up Helvellyn, a famously high mountain in the Lake District, would have been more appealing. This path should have been dug up or destroyed well before I got to it. I just didn’t understand why it hadn’t been. I find myself asking that question all the time and Bess had no answers either when I discussed it with her.
I wasn’t in a rush to grow up, but I was made to – in some of the worst imaginable ways possible. I had no desire to look at a man’s intimate parts or to be made to hold a penis. I didn’t want to look at pornographic magazines or be washed, fingered and touched. I just wanted to be a child. The child I had a right to be.
I wanted to do things girls did: play with dolls, read books and make daisy chains sitting in the school field at break times in summer. I wanted to go out with boys, have girly sleepovers at a friend’s house and dream nice dreams. I wanted to be a virgin on my wedding night and give my precious innocence to the man I would marry. Instead I had a knowledge that would affect me for the rest of my life. What the abusers don’t realise when they choose to abuse is that it isn’t just a moment they are stealing from their victim; it’s their whole life. Every ounce of childhood innocence is lost forever. It can’t be given back, wrapped up like a gift at Christmas – it’s simply gone.
Throughout the years that I have lived with these dirty, tainted memories, the one thing I wish I could have been given back was my virginity. As a teenage girl in the changing rooms at school, I always cried when I was alone after listening to the other girls talking about how they couldn’t wait to get married and experience the joy of making love on their wedding night. I would never experience that, because my virginity had already been stolen. They were all so excited and I wished I had been, too.
Instead I was plagued by my past and the thoughts of what the man I loved would think of me when I made love with him for the first time and he realised I wasn’t pure. Would he think I was a bit of a tramp? Would he doubt my sincerity? Would he understand if I told him about my past? I hated living with my history and would have done anything to change it.
At the next session with Bess, I told her of my feelings about my virginity, before I moved on to tell her of the other ‘secrets’ I had stored away. I had no reason to feel as if I had been to blame for my abuse but inside, like so many other girls who had and have been subjected to these nightmares, I did feel responsible.
Bess sat opposite me on that cold January day, not saying very much, but watching every single movement and uncomfortable shift I made while curled up on the settee. It was as if I were meeting her for the first time, revealing my secrets to someone who would be shocked and horrified. I watched her in return, trying to gauge her thoughts, but she wasn’t always an easy person to read. Once I finished talking, she sat thinking and I thought I knew what was coming next, but I was wrong.
‘If I had been new to this Sarah, both this case and the job, I think I would probably have walked out and not come back,’ Bess began. ‘But I’m not. I still have so much to help you with. Your life was invaded at a very young and tender age, and, quite rightly, you still feel to blame. I don’t mean “right” because you should blame yourself, I mean “right” because it is understandably right that you still feel you should need to blame yourself. You shouldn’t. You never should have started, and that is why you feel so much guilt about the most precious thing that was stolen from you. Every woman has held that precious part of her life in her thoughts and close to her heart, and only surrendering it at the appropriate time for her. You never had that chance, Sarah, and that is why you feel to blame because on your wedding day you had already lost your precious gift.’
There were so many times when Bess had said the right thing. I did feel like I had deprived my husband of a special gift that only I, as his wife, could have given him on our wedding night. Oh I know, I had already had a child before I got married, but I wondered if I hadn’t been abused, would I have been in a rush to escape with the first man who made me feel loved, and marry him so young? I shared my thoughts with Bess and she told me quite frankly: ‘No.’
‘What had you planned to do, Sarah, if none of this had happened?’ she asked me.
This was one question I did not need to think about, and I smiled as I answered her. ‘As a gir
l I joined the St John Ambulance Brigade and loved it. I loved being a nurse in the brigade and made many new friends. It wasn’t like being at school; no one knew me or knew about how I was called names and bullied. This was a new world for me. On Mondays we met in town at the Brigade Headquarters and I gained both my First Aid and Home Nursing certificates. I wanted to continue that when I left school and join the army as part of the Queen Alexandra Nursing Corps. That all changed when I wasn’t allowed to go to my weekly meeting anymore because Mum wanted me with her and to help Bill at tea time.
‘I could have still gone, although Bill began fetching me home on some Monday nights after six o’clock. If I wanted to go to the meeting, I had to be on the bus at ten past six or I wouldn’t get into town in time. She also didn’t want to keep giving me the regular bus fare each week. It was only sixteen pence, eight pence each way, but it was sixteen pence less that she would have for bingo. I couldn’t join the army when I left school, because I had a baby and I’d also left without finishing my final year. I had done so well in my mock exams Bess, and I should have gone to school to sit my final exams later that year. I don’t know if I would have passed them, but I think I had a good chance, even though I had missed a lot of my schooling.
‘As always, this opportunity was taken from me when I had an argument with my mum. She wouldn’t look after Michael for me, so I couldn’t go back to school. I was really sad and it was probably this that also contributed to my feelings of worthlessness as a person. I used to live for my nights at the St John’s and fulfilling my dreams but, like everything else at that time, they even managed to steal that dream, too.’
When I finished talking, I could feel an extra large lump lodged in my throat. I swallowed and stifled my pain once more.
Bess acknowledged her growing understanding of the pains I had suffered. These were not just pains from the abuse but psychological pains, too. Pains caused by the people who said they had loved me when secretly I knew that they hadn’t.
Escaping the Darkness Page 8
